


One Minute to Midnight

by iridescere



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: New Year's Eve, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescere/pseuds/iridescere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was New Year’s Eve, and the Pie-Maker was not looking forward to midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Minute to Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> the amount of math i had to do for this fic is disgusting. i think i spent more time on the math and research than the actual writing itself. at least now i have an actual time line!
> 
> first time writing for the pushing daisies fandom, only watched it earlier this year so i’m several years late to the party. :( this was originally intended to be a drabble, kind of a closure thing for 2015? idk how it ended up at 1.2k. 
> 
> not proofread by anyone else, so any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> happy new year everyone!

At this very moment in a city in Papen County, the Pie-Maker was currently lying on his bed, pondering. 

It was five minutes to midnight on the eve of New Year’s, yet most regrettably, he did not feel even the slightest hint of the stygian hands of sleep pulling at him to lure him into a blissful state of unconsciousness. 

Eyes wide open, the springs of the mattress pressing into his back, he stared, unseeing, at the patterns of red and gold on his ceiling illuminated by pale moonlight. For though his physical body lay in the apartment above his beloved restaurant, his mind and soul was inside (or rather, on) the Pie Hole itself. 

In a financial crisis, the Pie Hole was unable to sustain itself solely by its stream of customers. Despite their fierce loyalty, they were small in numbers. Threats of eviction notices and overdue bills flashed before his eyes, and he feared that three-hundred and sixty-five days later, his life’s work would cease to exist, and the Pie Hole would be no more. He found himself dreading the oncoming approach of a new year, a new beginning; wishing he could cling on to the last vestiges of the year for a little while longer before it vanished forever. 

Outside his apartment, the world was oblivious to the struggles of a small bakery owner. In a flurry of flashing lights and excited yelling, a New Year’s party in the building opposite of his was in full swing, the atmosphere heightening in tension as the new year steadily approached, until one could almost reach out into the air and tug at its tangibility. 

Time, as it was wont to do, marched on, dragging the unwilling and slowing the eager. The Pie-Maker decided that he could lay in bed unsleeping for no longer, and thus sought a remedy to cure his situation. At his movement, Digby raised his head from his paws and let out a small whine from his position at the corner of the room. Usually, Digby would be staying in Olive’s apartment for their mutual safety, but tonight Olive was attending said party opposite. 

‘You sure you don’t want to come?’ Olive had asked earlier, leaning against the doorjamb, looking up at him seductively through half lidded eyes. He shook his head.

‘No, thanks. I wasn’t invited,’ he had replied, desperately seeking a means to end the conversation quickly before it got too awkward for him.  
‘But I’m inviting you,’ Olive had pouted, leaning forward in an attempt to close the space; to maintain a comfortable distance away he had hurriedly taken a step backward and almost stumbled in his haste. 

‘I–uh, someone has to look after Digby. You know, feed him and all that.’ 

Visibly deflated, Olive had resigned to going to the party alone while he exhaled a silent sigh of relief. ‘I still think you need to pet him more,’ she grumbled under her breath, which he had ignored and pretended not to hear. 

Now, he picked up the device with a plastic hand attached and scratched Digby’s head. ‘Are _you_ happy about the new year?’ he asked, to which Digby gave another whine in reply and lowered his head onto his paws again. Evidently, his dog had no problem falling asleep, unlike himself. 

He placed the device back down into its original position, turning his attention to the window. Snow was starting to fall, blanketing the streets of the city in a layer of white. Placing his palm against the icy glass, the window warmed under his touch, and he took the moment to appreciate how similar it was to bringing a cold dead body back into the warmth embrace of life, before deciding he needed to leave the stupid metaphors behind if he was going to be forcibly hauled into the new year. 

_One minute to midnight._

There was a gigantic digital makeshift clock on the building opposite, flashing the time in bright red LED light, down to the second. He sighed as he watched the seconds tick by, as the number slowly crept its way to up 60. New beginnings from a new year were but an illusion; it was just one more orbit around the sun. 

_10..._

It had been 19 years, 15 weeks, 5 days, 11 hours, and 57 minutes since he discovered he could bring dead things to life. 

_9..._

19 years, 15 weeks, 5 days, 2 hours and 33 minutes since his mother died, for the second and final time. 

_8..._

19 years, 15 weeks, 1 day, 17 hours and 8 minutes since the funeral when his mother was laid to rest, and on the other side of the graveyard, another funeral was taking place as a consequence of his actions. 

_7..._

19 years, 13 weeks, 6 days, 15 hours, and 26 minutes since his father abandoned him at boarding school, leaving him with the broken promise of ‘I’ll be back’. 

_6..._

19 years, 8 weeks, 6 days, 14 hours and 54 minutes since he last received the first, and only, postcard from his father, with the words, _‘We’ve moved!’_. 

_5..._

19 years, 2 weeks, 3 days, 21 hours and 57 minutes since he baked his first pie in the kitchen at the Longborough School for Boys and carried it to bed, its warmth and scent reminiscent of his mother’s pies. 

_4..._

10 years, 26 weeks, 4 days, 5 hours and 29 minutes since he graduated from the boarding school, full of dreams and passions but unsure how to accomplish them; unguided and lost in life. 

_3..._

2 years, 37 weeks, 3 days, 12 hours and 40 minutes since he had scrapped enough savings to open the Pie Hole. 

_2..._

2 years, 34 weeks, 2 days, 7 hours and 9 minutes since he met Olive Snook when she first crossed the doors, drawn in by the crust-shaped roof. 

_1..._

19 years, 13 weeks, 5 days, 8 hours and 33 minutes since he felt truly alive. 

‘Happy New Year!’ 

Shouts of well wishers resounded from the street, the fizzing and crackling of firecrackers were almost drowned by the booms of fireworks that seemed to light up the entire sky in another celebration that was taking place further away. Unable to withstand the brightness of the pyrotechnics display, he drew the heavy curtains together and headed back to his bed. 

‘Happy New Year,’ he echoed to nobody in particular, for the apartment was empty save for himself and Digby, who was sound asleep even with the raucous noises going on outside. 

Little did he know, as the Pie-Maker drifted between the land of sleeping and wakefulness, that in 12 weeks, 1 day, 18 hours, and 29 minutes, he would meet private investigator Emerson Cod, who would offer a business proposal that would save the Pie Hole from the financial trouble it was currently in. 

Or that 18 weeks, 4 days, 20 hours, and 52 minutes later, childhood sweetheart Charlotte ‘Chuck’ Charles would turn up in his life again, dead. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you've enjoyed it, please leave a kudos and feel free to head to my tumblr at iridescere.tumblr.com for more stuff!


End file.
